The Calling
by Fleur27
Summary: Nate has a decision to make about his future in the priesthood. Pre-series but does have some allusions to events in “The Miracle Job” from the middle of S1.


Disclaimer: I own nothing here and am just doing this for fun and to ease my new-found Leverage addiction.

A/N: Written for prompt 17 (a church) story_lottery on LJ.

When Nate had announced his intention to become a priest, his friends had asked him how he was going to handle the vow of chastity. He'd just smiled his little half-smile and shrugged, like he had everything figured out and wasn't going to sweat the small details. Fact was, he'd thought carefully about all of the vows and had come to the conclusion that chastity was the easy one.

He knew it was the vow of obedience that would sorely test him. Obedience would never come naturally to him. He was far too headstrong and stubborn to yield when the reasoning was essentially "because I said so" (and if that wasn't the doctrine of papal infallibility, then Nate didn't know what was), but he was confident he'd find a way to keep any vows that he made.

These thoughts flitted through his head as he knelt in the seminary's chapel. His elbows rested on the pew in front of him and he leaned his forehead against his clasped hands. Unruly curls brushed his knuckles, reminding him that he had to get a haircut before he next saw his mother. The visit would be difficult enough without her badgering him about his hair.

Nate opened his eyes and appreciated the way the afternoon sunlight came through the stained glass windows, casting a cool blue glow over the alter. He knew he should go, but he wanted to appreciate the peace for a few more minutes before everything changed.

He sat back on the bench and looked around the small chapel. The prolonged squeak of the chapel door made him smile. He'd always suspected that Father McGuire kept the hinges rusty so he could catch students sneaking into Mass late.

A tall, lanky figure walked up to the pew in front of Nate, hastily genuflected, and then sat down. Nate hunched forward and greeted his friend, whose cheeks were flushed.

"Hey Paul, were you out for a run, or something, decided to stop in for a little pray?"

"Been looking for you everywhere," Paul replied, turning slightly and resting his arm on the back of the pew.

"What? This was the last place you looked?"

"Pretty much. It did seem the least likely."

"Real nice, Paul."

"We're going out to celebrate, well, all the guys who got the call," he said, meaning the call from the bishop to make the step toward final vows.

Nate raised an eyebrow. "You mean some guys didn't?"

"Gerald didn't and neither did Parnell."

"Parnell....pompous prick," they said in unison and then smiled.

"Still, too bad about Roger," said Nate. "Do you know what he's going to do?"

"He said he's sticking around. He really feels the calling."

"Yes, the calling," said Nate dryly, unable to suppress a sardonic smile.

"So, you coming?" asked Paul.

"No."

"What, you're going to sit here all night? I don't understand you sometimes, Nate."

Nate pressed his lips together and looked down, avoiding Paul's curious stare. He knew the path of least resistance was to ignore his misgivings and go out with his friends. Maybe, along with the hangover, he'd have a different perspective in the morning. Perhaps it was his terrier-like nature, but he just couldn't let something go when it vexed him.

"Don't you ever have doubts?" asked Nate, lowering his voice another notch since it felt like sacrilege to discuss this in the chapel.

"What? Yes, Nate of course I have doubts. That's why it's called faith."

"I'm not talking about little doubts. I'm talking about big doubts. Huge, huge doubts."

"I'm not getting into this with you now, Nate. Everyone's waiting," Paul stood up and looked down at his friend. "Let's go."

"Okay, bye then," replied Nate with a mocking wave.

Paul sat back down with a sigh and gestured for Nate to continue.

"There's just a lot that I can't understand."

"For example?" asked Paul, pulling his suit cuff down over his watch.

"I can't reconcile the Sacrament of Reconciliation."

Paul groaned. "Nate, you're not still hung up on that scenario from class, are you?"

"Yes, I am." Even though it had been nearly two years since the class where they'd discussed the seal of the confessional, Nate still found himself drawn back into his discomfort on the day.

After discussing the basic principles of absolution and the seal of the confessional, the teacher had posed am extreme hypothetical situation. A penitent confesses that he's poisoned the bread and wine that will be used in the evening mass. As a priest, you cannot betray that confession by either word or deed, but saying Mass that evening will result in the deaths of the entire congregation. The heated discussion had lasted the better part of an hour, but the ramifications of the lesson had haunted Nate every day since then.

"You can't substitute your judgement like that. God's will be done. If you wanted a Choose Your Own Adventure story church, you should look into becoming a Unitarian Universalist."

"Cute. Paul, Real cute. I point out legitimate concerns with a basic tenet of Catholicism and you malign another faith."

"Nate, c'mon you know I didn't mean it like that. Your doubts are based on an extreme situation that was posed for the purpose of a rousing class discussion. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were just scared of commitment."

"I'm not afraid of commitment. When I do something, I want to do it right. And if I'm going to take these vows, if I'm going to dedicate my life to this, I want to be certain. I'm not going to make promises that I know I can't keep."

"No one automatically knows they can keep their vows, Nate. Life isn't that easy. It's a daily struggle but the commitment makes it worthwhile."

Nate waved away the reassuring words. "So what would you do then? If the penitent confessed to poisoning the bread and wine?"

"Look, like I said in class, as part of the penance, I'd ask the person to make it right, to replace the poisoned stuff with safe bread and wine."

"So you'd leave it in their hands?"

"God gave us free will. The sinner deserves the chance to make things right."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather use my own free will to make damn sure that I wasn't going to kill everyone at Mass."

Paul laughed and shook his head. "You are _such_ a control freak."

"I bet some day, you're going to have to make a decision about breaking the seal of the confessional."

"Yeah? Well I can make that decision right now-"

"Without hearing the facts?"

"Yes. I would never break the seal."

"Never is a big absolute word, Paul. Don't you think you better wait until you're actually a priest, out there in the world? Things change, you know."

"Right and wrong doesn't change. Not in God's eyes."

Nate smiled and shook his head. It was all so simple for his friend, sitting here in the sanctity of the chapel, far from the messiness of the real world. Maybe that starry-eyed idealism would withstand the the crushing reality of life outside the seminary. For Paul's sake, Nate certainly hoped so.

"And then there's this whole business of church law," said Nate, moving on to the next item on his list of doubts.

"It's the law of God," corrected Paul.

"No, it's the law of God as interpreted by man, which makes it fundamentally flawed."

"You can't believe that His divine intervention moves men and He can speak through them to reveal His will?"

Nate shrugged. "Got to be honest with you, Paul, I'm having a hard time with that one too. And you already know that I can't stand papal infallibility."

"Then what are you doing here, Nate. Why did you enter the seminary in the first place? Didn't you feel a calling?" asked Paul.

Nate pressed his lips together and looked away. He'd felt a calling, but he'd always known it wasn't exactly from God. He'd felt a calling to be as different from his father as humanly possible. Jimmy Ford, with his drinking and number running and finger breaking, when he imagined the polar opposite of his father, he inevitably thought of priests.

He tried to answer his friend's question, but it was something he could just barely explain and admit to himself. Instead, he reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out an envelope and handed it to Paul.

"What's this?"

Nate gave a little nod of his head, the gesture inviting him to find out. Paul eased out a single sheet of paper and unfolded it slowly. He held it at arm's length and began to read out loud.

"Your Excellency... I regret to inform you that I have come to the conclusion that..." Paul stopped reading and looked up at Nate. "Are you serious?"

"Completely. Never been more certain of anything in my life."

"I'd argue with you Nate, but I know it's pointless to reason with you after you've made up your mind. Are you absolutely positive that you're making the right choice?" asked Paul as he slid the letter into the envelope and handed it back.

Nate turned the white rectangle over in his hand, struck by its lightness. The letter would change his entire life and it weighed scarcely more than an ounce. A stiff breeze would carry it away and he was struck with the crazy idea that he should take it outside, toss it up in the air, and see what God's plan for him really was.

"Yes, Paul. I'm absolutely positive," replied Nate as he stood up and stepped out into the aisle, genuflecting for the last time in this place that had been the center of his life for the past few years.

"But what are you going to do? You have a bachelor's in art history, a masters in divinity and a seriously skewed tendency to accept moral relativism as a fact of life. What sort of job does that qualify you for?"

"I'll figure something out. Don't you worry about me," said Nate with a smile.

"I won't, but I'll pray for you."

"I'm counting on it, Paul." Nate turned and left his friend muttering in disbelief. He eased open the squeaky door and headed out to pack up his room, the letter waiting safely in his pocket.

For the first time since entering the seminary, Nate felt calm and certain. He still had a calling that he could believe in and struggle to achieve, even if it wasn't from God and didn't involve becoming a priest.


End file.
